


Where You Belong

by sadtomato



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:59:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadtomato/pseuds/sadtomato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlisle's new boyfriend is young, sweet, and sexy-but he's also incredibly shy. Can Carlisle draw him out of his shell?</p><p>"No, Edward, none of that," I tell him, bracing myself with one hand so I can pull the other away from his eyes. "I'm gonna take good care of you, and I want you to look at me. Look at Daddy while he fucks you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a contest at some point. :)  
> It's a bit graphic but sweet, if you like the daddy!kink.

Edward is beautiful when he comes.

"Are you close, baby?" I ask him, ducking my head down to kiss him. He moans loudly and clings to me, throwing me off my rhythm a little when he tries to pull me closer. He loves to be close.

"C'mon, tell me," I prompt him. "Are you almost there?"

He nods furiously, his forehead brushing against mine. His lips are pressed together, white with strain, and I wonder again what he's holding back from me. What he still won't say after all the times we've been together like this.

"Talk to me, Edward," I beg him, lifting myself up on my knees. I speed up, thrusting into him relentlessly while he whines and bucks his slim hips against mine. "Are you gonna come for me?"

I take his cock in my hand, still slick with lube, and stroke him until he starts to thrash.

"Come, baby," I beg him, knowing I won't last much longer. His body stiffens and he throws his arm over his face, covering his eyes. "Edward," I groan.

He shudders through his release, whimpering even while his mouth stays tightly closed.

He's beautiful.

I love the way his creamy, smooth skin glistens with sweat from the effort of straining and writhing below me. The soft, reddish hair on his head, usually so carefully arranged, gets all sweaty and disheveled. His face ... is probably lovely, but I'm not really sure. He always hides his eyes from me when he comes.

* * *

I first saw him three months ago; we've been fooling around ever since then, but he's only let me fuck him a handful of times. I thank the gods of road construction every day for ruining my usual route to work-if First Avenue hadn't been closed down this summer, I wouldn't have been forced to take Spruce instead. I wouldn't have left earlier to compensate for the extra time it would take to get to work. I wouldn't have stopped at the Starbucks near campus instead of the local place downtown I've been going to for years.

I wouldn't have met Edward.

He made my latte that first day, chatting with me quietly while he worked. I flirted shamelessly with the cute coffee boy, not really expecting it to go anywhere, but when I picked up my cup it had a message scribbled on the side:

_555-9484. Please?_

I called him that night and teased him about being so bold.

" _What made you so sure I'm even gay?" I asked._

" _The way you looked at me-I just thought ..." he stuttered._

" _No, you were right. I was looking at you like that," I confessed. His breath hitched._

" _You're embarrassing me ..."_

He gets embarrassed so easily, my shy boy. On our first real date, beers at the High Q, he was so quiet that I wondered if he'd changed his mind, if he didn't really like me. Not until he threw himself at me in the parking lot, flinging his thin arms around my neck and burying his face in my shoulder, did I realize he was just as smitten as I was.

* * *

I find my release right after he does, pulsing inside his warm body. When I come back to my senses, Edward is still lying beneath me with his arm thrown over his face. I pull out of him carefully, quickly pulling off the condom and tossing it in the trash can next to my bed. He's breathing hard, in short little gasps, and I worry that he's hyperventilating.

"Sweetie, calm down," I beg him, flopping down onto the bed. I pry his arm away from his face, but his eyes are still closed. "Just come here."

I pull him against my chest, ignoring the sticky cum covering his belly. "Shhhh," I tell him, rubbing circles over his lower back. He tucks his face into my shoulder and shudders one more time before relaxing into me. "Good boy," I tell him, trying to comfort him.

"Oh, Carlisle," he whispers, nestling closer. "Say that again?" he adds, his voice so soft that I can barely hear him.

It seems like an odd request, but Edward never asks for what he wants-ever-and I don't want to discourage him from doing it.

"Good boy," I repeat, and he moans quietly against my skin. My mind starts racing, wondering why he's reacting so strongly to  _those_ words. Why he's holding me tighter but finally relaxing. I want to ask him about it, but he always seems so fucking vulnerable afterwards that I don't want to push him. Tomorrow-I'll talk to him tomorrow for sure. For now I just hold him until he comes back to me, until he pulls himself away, lays his head on my pillow, and stretches out like a cat.

"That was awesome," he says, reaching out to touch my cheek.

"Awesome, huh?" I love to tease him about his juvenile vernacular; he's twenty-one and an intelligent college student, but sometimes he talks like a kid.

"Totally, bro," he says, rolling his eyes at me.

"I think I'm a little old to be your bro," I retort, even though I'm only ten years older. Edward bites his lip, probably holding back a comment about my age. "C'mon, let's go get cleaned up," I tell him, urging him up off the bed. "We got you all messy."

* * *

The next morning, Edward doesn't have to work so we both get to sleep in. The mornings when he wakes up before five are tough-I always have a hard time going back to sleep alone after he leaves my bed.

We both get up around nine, and Edward shrugs on one of my Northwestern t-shirts before padding into the kitchen. I'm not a big guy by any means, but Edward is slim and wears his clothes two sizes smaller than I do; I love it when he borrows my too-big clothes.

I quickly use the bathroom before following him out to the kitchen. He's making me a latte on the home espresso machine I bought last month, making use of Edward's forty percent discount.

"Want some sugar?" he asks, just as I'm reaching around him to grab a bag of English muffins.

"Of course," I answer, leaning in for a kiss. Edward giggles when I pull away, ducking his head shyly.

"I meant in your coffee."

"Can you make it like you did last week? With the cinnamon and stuff?" I ask, moving around him to make us breakfast. We work together seamlessly, Edward creating fancy little coffee drinks while I scramble some eggs for us. We eat at the pub table in my kitchen, flirting a little, holding hands awkwardly while we try to eat.

Edward's full of energy; he wants to go out and run around town, take the dog to the park or go shopping. I argue that we should spend it at my place, together, because we rarely get a lazy Sunday together.

We find a pretty good compromise; a long run in the park with Max, my chocolate Lab, tires us all out, and we spend the rest of the afternoon lounging around and reading. I'm still thinking about his strange behavior from last night, but I'm hesitant to bring it up and ruin our peaceful afternoon.

* * *

Edward usually stays at his own place during the week and at my place on Friday and Saturday nights. Last week, though, he stayed on Thursday, too; this week he's been here since Wednesday night, and I don't want to let him go.

"I guess I should get home," he says, folding down a corner of the page he was on in his book. It's still early evening, but it's starting to get dark earlier and earlier these days. The sun is setting already, and my living room is bathed in warm, golden light. Edward looks beautiful in this light; he looks beautiful in all light, actually, but he's especially gorgeous tonight, curled up on my couch.

"Stay with me?" I ask. "I'm not ready for you to leave."

He smiles, his head ducking down in embarrassment.

"I have to open tomorrow, so I need to get up early ... and I don't have any clean clothes here," he says.

"Sure you do. I washed them," I tell him. I thought he realized that I'd thrown his laundry in with mine earlier today, but he seems surprised.

"You washed my clothes?" he asks quietly, looking up at me even though his chin is still tucked against his chest.

"Yeah ... is that okay?" I ask. I have to remind myself sometimes that Edward's not used to being cared for; he grew up moving from foster home to foster home, some okay, some bad, but he was never really part of a family. He always seems shocked when I take care of him or show him any real kindness.

"Yeah," he says. "You sure you want me to stay? I have to get up at four thirty."

"I'm sure," I answer, leaning over to kiss him. He hums contentedly and turns back to his book, opening it again and carefully unfolding the dog-eared page.

* * *

"I didn't-oh, fuck, Edward-I didn't ask you to stay for this," I tell him, tightening my grip on his hair. He's on his knees in my walk-in closet, sucking my cock like he's desperate for it. I was putting my laundry away when he walked in, naked, and pushed me up against the wall.

"Want to," he says, breathless, pulling away just long enough to assure me that he's into this just as much as I am. He picks his rhythm right back up, bobbing up and down at a furious pace. One of his hands is braced against my hip, the other wrapped around the base of my shaft.

"God, you're so fucking hot," I tell him, groaning with pleasure as the tip of my dick hits the back of his throat. Again and again, he takes me deeper, his eyes wide open and staring up at my face. "So sexy."

He moans around my cock, his eyes fluttering with pleasure, and I remember the way he reacted last night when I comforted him-he seemed to like it, to really let go. I wonder if that's what he's wanting in bed, too-some reassurance? I'm always vocal, telling him what feels good and how sexy he is, but it's usually more about what we're doing than praising Edward himself.

"You're so good at this," I tell him, loosening my grip in his hair. I brush it back gently and continue encouraging him. "Edward ... are you a good boy?"

His eyes squeeze tightly closed and he nods without losing his rhythm. The hand on my cock drops down, and I can see Edward's arm moving as he starts to stroke himself in time with the movement of his mouth.

"Look at me, baby," I urge him, scratching my fingers lightly across his scalp. "You make me feel so good. You're my good boy, you are."

He stops moving, my cock buried in his throat, and lets out a muffled groan. His fingers are digging into my hip and he wavers a little, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Are you coming, Edward?" I whisper, and he doesn't need to answer; his eyes tell me everything I need to know. He comes back to himself quickly, though, and starts moving his mouth over me again. I was already right there on the edge, and watching Edward get himself off pushes me right over it. Just a few flicks of his tongue and I'm coming, spilling into his mouth. He swallows around me hungrily, not releasing my cock until I'm completely spent.

Even after he lets it slip from his lips, Edward doesn't move from his position; he nuzzles into my hip, breathing deeply, and wraps his arms around my thighs.

"Baby?" I ask, stroking hair hair softly. "You okay? Was that okay?"

He doesn't answer, just nods slightly, his lips brushing against my skin. Eventually I pull him up to his feet and hug him close, and he smiles up at me.

"You taste so good," he says, pecking me on the lips.

"Edward, you're amazing," I tell him, kissing his temple. I need him to talk to me, to tell me I'm doing what he wants, meeting his needs. "Was that good for you, sweetie? What I said? You liked that?"

His pale cheeks light up with color, and he nods shyly.

"You know I want to give you everything, right? Anything you want, baby," I prompt him. His sweetness and innocence are so sexy to me, but it's nerve-wracking having to guess at what will turn him on every time; he's never really communicated his desires to me. I'm hoping I can open him up a little more with some reassurance.

"I think I need to put some clothes on," he says, shivering a little. He grabs some folded pajama pants and a t-shirt from my laundry basket and walks out the door. "I'm gonna clean up," he tells me quietly. So much for getting him to open up.

* * *

A few weeks later, he's all but given up on the pretense of going home during the week. He's stopped at his apartment once or twice to pick up a few things, but he's slept in my bed every night. I fucking love it-his things scattered around my apartment, his socks folded neatly next to mine. I love  _him_.

I don't know when I realized it, exactly; it wasn't like a light bulb switching on ... more like a sunrise, gradual and beautiful and slowly warming every corner of my heart. I love Edward, he's become my whole world, and I want to make sure he knows it.

I make Edward's favorite dinner, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I made it for him a few weeks ago and it immediately became his favorite-he said no one's ever made him meatloaf before. I set the table, even light some candles, and try to make things look romantic. Edward's face is blushing bright red from the moment he walks into the kitchen; he's embarrassed by the attention and the obvious atmosphere of romance, but I refuse to let him hide from me.

"I wanted to do something special for you," I tell him, kissing his temple.

"Why?" he murmurs, taking in the table setting with wide eyes.

"Because you're special. You deserve it," I tell him, and his eyes snap to mine. He looks ... confused, I guess, and it fucking breaks my heart. "You deserve nice things, Edward. You deserve to be treated this way."

Instead of answering, he moves to the table and sits down. I sit down with him and kiss him again before serving him from the fancy dishes I almost never use. I poured us both glasses of red wine, but Edward doesn't really like the taste; he doesn't complain, of course, but I can tell. I bring him a Coke from the fridge and he smiles sheepishly.

"Thanks," he says. "I mean, for all of this. It's probably ... it's definitely the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Meatloaf is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for you?" I ask him, incredulous. He looks embarrassed, and I feel like an asshole for reacting this way. "I just wish ... I just wish I wasn't the only person who took care of you like this."

"I had one really nice family, they would do things like ... like have family dinners," he offers, and I nod encouragingly. "When I was twelve. It was like ... white picket fence and all that, you know?"

"How long did you stay there?" I ask, serving him some more mashed potatoes.

"Not long ... a few months, I think. Not even a whole school year," he says. He looks a little bit lost in thought, but I'm desperate to know more, to know him better.

"Why ..." I start, but then I bite my tongue. I want to know why they didn't keep him, why a supposedly nice family would let my sweet Edward go, but it seems like such a horribly rude question to ask.

"She got pregnant," he says, understanding what I started to ask. "They thought she couldn't, and then she did, and it was a small house and they didn't have a lot of money and ... she got pregnant." He looks so hurt, even though it was almost ten years ago.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. He leans into me, and I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, stroking behind his ear with my thumb. "Where did you go next?"

"Don't remember," Edward says, shrugging. It's quiet for a minute, and then he changes the topic without any segue. "Guess what my manager did today?"

I let him change the subject and listen to his story about the manager at Starbucks ordering the wrong kind of coffee for the espresso machines.

When dinner's over, he moves to clear the table, but I stop him. I reach for his hand and hold it tightly, maybe because I'm nervous or maybe because I don't want him to run away.

"Edward, I want to tell you something."

He stiffens, and his hand tugs against mine. I'm glad I'm holding him tightly; I won't let him go.

"I've never been as happy as I am with you. I know you're young, and we haven't been together all that long, and I'll understand if you're not in the same place that I am yet, but I need to tell you ..." I squeeze his hand. He's looking down at his empty plate, concentrating on it fiercely, but I need him to look at me. I use my free hand to tip his chin, to make him look into my eyes. "I love you, Edward."

His reply makes my chest ache.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'?" I ask. "You're sweet, loving ... you're smart and fun, too. I just love you, every bit of you."

"Oh," he says, his eyes focused on our joined hands. "You really-are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I tell him. I tug on his hand, pulling him closer, and he moves to stand between my legs. "I'm positive, Edward. I love you."

"Carlisle," he breathes, throwing his arms around my neck. "I'm not good at-I mean, I don't know how to ..."

I didn't expect him to say it back. I guess part of me hoped that he would, but the rational side of my brain knows that my sweet boy is out of practice-that his heart doesn't know how to do this. I can be patient. He's worth it.

"It's okay, baby, I promise," I tell him. "I just want you to know. I'm gonna tell you that a lot, okay? Every day. But you don't have to say it back."

He's quiet, then, brushing his lips back and forth against my neck. The only sounds in the kitchen are the persistent drip from the faucet and the hum of the refrigerator. When he speaks, it's so soft that I can barely hear it. It's soft and sweet and just what I need, just like he is.

"Carlisle, I love you, too."

* * *

For all the ways we're growing closer, there are still times when Edward shuts me out. The worst is when I feel like he's holding something back while we're making love-it happens every time, where I can see in his eyes that there's something missing. Something he's waiting for me to do or say, and I have no idea what he wants.

A few weeks after I told him I loved him, he's finally starting to feel comfortable merging his life with mine. More of his things show up at my place, although he insists on keeping his own apartment; having a permanent home means more to Edward than I could ever understand.

He's sitting in bed, wearing just a pair of black briefs, sketching furiously on a big, white sketchpad while I wander in and out of the room, getting ready for bed.

"Are you ever going to show me what you're drawing?" I ask, trying to sneak a peak. He pulls it close to his chest, batting me away, and I laugh.

"When it's finished," he says. "Promise." He closes the sketchpad carefully and stows it in the nightstand on his side of the bed. By the time I finish puttering around, he's curled up on his side waiting for me.

"Hi," he says, reaching for me as soon as I slide under the covers.

"Hey," I answer. I pull him into my arms, tugging him closer, and let my head fall against the pillow. I'm tired from a long day of meetings with the hospital board, so my mind isn't on anything but sleeping … but Edward has other ideas. He's kissing slowly up my chest, past my collarbone, and then up to my neck. His lips are soft and gentle, exploring me and arousing me.

"You wanna fool around?" I tease, threading my fingers through his hair. He hums in agreement and continues his trail of kisses, letting his tongue linger on that sensitive spot below my Adam's apple. "You know what would make me really happy?"

"What?" he asks, nipping at my jaw.

"If you would tell me some of your fantasies, Edward," I ask, pressing him closer to me so he can't pull away. "If you would just let me in a little and tell me what you want." I haven't asked him quite so directly before, and never  _before_  we started fooling around.

He's quiet and stiff, his lips still against my skin.

"I feel like there's something that you need that you're not asking for, baby," I tell him, urging him to relax, to rest his weight on me. "I can see it in your face every time we have sex. I don't ... Edward, I don't want to pressure you, I just want to love you ... to satisfy you."

He takes a deep breath and lifts his head, looking into my eyes. He opens his mouth and then closes it, dropping his head back to my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze tightly, pulling him further over me until he's lying completely on top of my body, his chest pressed against mine and our legs intertwined.

"What if you don't want what I want?" he whispers. I'm so glad he's talking about it, so glad he's acknowledging that I'm not crazy and there  _is_  something he needs, that my response is a little overenthusiastic.

"Baby, there's nothing you could want that I don't want, too," I assure him. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, though, I'm picturing a dozen different scenarios that could turn me into a liar. "If it's something ... if there is something that's not my favorite thing to do, we'll find a way to make it work, I promise."

He's quiet for a minute, just rising and falling on my chest. Then he asks, "What if what I want is wrong?"

I take a minute to quiet my mind and dismiss all the possibilities floating around in my head before I answer him. "It's not about  _right_ or  _wrong_ , Sweetie. It's about what makes you feel good, and what makes me feel good. It's just between the two of us."

I wait for Edward to speak, just rubbing his back and holding him. The silence is heavy at first, but gradually becomes more comfortable. He slides off of my body and curls up into my side, looking up at me with sleepy eyes.

"Is it okay if we ... just not tonight?" he asks uncertainly.

"Sure," I tell him, kissing his forehead. "I love you, Edward. I want you to feel good, and happy, and loved. The way you make me feel. That's the only reason I said anything, babe."

"I know," he says. "I'm just ... I'm shy," he says. I can't stop myself from chuckling a little.

"I know you're shy. I love that you're shy," I tell him, urging him to roll over. He settles on his side and I pull him back against my chest. "I love that you make funny faces when you're concentrating, and that you draw little hearts on my coffee cups when I come to visit you at work ..."

He falls asleep in my arms, after giggling and whispering the things he loves about me, too.

* * *

I wake up a few hours later to Edward writhing in my arms. At first I think he's having a nightmare, but the noises he's making are decidedly sexy and not frightened at all.

"Edward?" I whisper. "Are you awake?" He doesn't answer, but he does start grinding his ass against my cock. His rough movement and his little moans are making my body wake up a lot faster than my brain.

"Edward?" I say, a little louder, and he jolts awake.

"Carlisle?" he says, twisting out of my arms. He turns around to face me. "Were we ... was I sleeping?"

"Yeah, you were," I tell him, brushing his soft, bronze hair away from his face. "I think you were having a dream, though, baby. You woke me up."

"Yeah," he whispers. "It was ... it was a good dream."

"I thought so," I tell him, grinning. I roll him onto his back and hover over him, dipping my head down to kiss his neck. "Tell me about it."

"You were fucking me," he says, pulling me down so our hips connect. He's so fucking hard, straining against those briefs, and I grind against him while I suck at his neck. "You were fucking me so hard, Carlisle."

"Mmm," I moan, moving capture his lips with mine. I kiss him hungrily, and Edward doesn't disappoint; he kisses me back fiercely. He's all tongue and teeth and hot, wet mouth sucking at my tongue, and my cock is just as hard as his now. "God," I gasp, pulling away from his mouth. "You like it when I fuck you hard, Edward?"

"I love it," he says, pulling my face back to his. We kiss for a long time, grinding together like teenagers. I question him again when he lets me go and pushes my head down to his chest.

"Tell me about your dream. I want more," I beg, tugging at his nipples with my teeth. His voice wavers-with excitement this time, I think-as I drag my fingertips over his sides.

"You were so-oh, fuck, that feels good-so hot, Carlisle," he says, pushing at my shoulders to move me lower, guide me down his body. "You were fucking me and it was so ... it was dirty, it was so  _good_ ," he tells me.

"Why was it dirty? Tell me," I demand. I pull his briefs down roughly over his hips, letting his cock spring free. I push the underwear down his thighs and he wiggles around, pulling them off with his feet and kicking them away. I push my own pajama pants off, toss them on the floor, and spread myself out over Edward again.

"You talked to me," he says, lifting his head from the pillow to kiss me again. His intensity is new and exciting. "Carlisle, get the lube, please," he whines.

I want him just as much as he wants me, and I'm not going to deny him. I crawl back to my side of the bed on all fours, leaning over to grab the bottle of lube and a condom. When I get back to Edward, he swats them out of my hand and pulls me back to him for more kissing.

I laugh at his enthusiasm and pull away from his iron grip, sitting back on my heels at his side. "Someone's impatient," I tease him, reaching out for his straining cock. He grunts when I wrap my fingers around it and closes his fist around mine, forcing me to tighten my grip.

"Need you," he says. "Need you so much."

"I'm right here," I tell him. "I'm not going anywhere, Edward. I'm yours."

His hand abandons mine and he feels around in the sheets, searching blindly for the bottle of lube. He opens it and holds it out to me, his eyes pleading. "Get me ready?" he begs.

"Fuck," I mutter, unable to control the way my cock jumps at his voice. I reach out and snatch up the lube, pouring it quickly over the fingers of my left hand. I give up on teasing him and drop my fingers down to his balls, letting them slip over the skin just behind them. "You want me to get you ready so I can fuck you?"

"Yeah," he says, lifting his knees. I settle between his legs so I can watch his face, touch his neck and chest and cock with my free hand.

"I talked to you?" I ask, wanting to keep him talking about his dream. "What did I say? Was I talking dirty?"

"Yeah," he groans, tensing as I work my finger into his ass, pressing forward against the muscles trying to keep me out.

"What did I say?" I ask again, punctuating my question with a sharper thrust of my finger. He groans again, and his hand moves back to his cock. He doesn't answer right away, too lost in the sensations of my finger in his ass and his hand on his dick. When I add a second finger, though, and start to brush against his prostate, he starts talking.

"Oh, fuck. You talked. You told me how much you love fucking me," he says, trying to spread his legs wider for me.

"I do love it, Edward. I fucking love being inside you. What else, baby?" I prompt, excited that he's finally talking. I don't know if it's the talk we had before bed, or the security that comes with middle-of-the-night closeness, but I feel like some of his walls are coming down.

"You told me ... oh, Carlisle, fuck. I'm fucking ready," he whines, pushing back against the three fingers I'm using now. I usually like to stretch him more, but his impatience is turning me on. I need to be inside him.

"Don't stop, Edward. Tell me," I demand, pulling my fingers away from him. I fumble with the condom a little before ripping the wrapper open and unrolling it down the length of my cock. I coat myself with more lube as Edward continues with the details of his dream.

"You fucking told me ... god, you told me I was your good boy," he says, his hand tightening over his cock. "I love it when you ..."

"I know, Edward," I tell him, settling between his knees again. I scoot closer and bat his hand away from his dick before I push his knees up towards his chest. I can't resist rubbing my cock against his, getting it slick with lube before I move down to his opening.

"Carlisle," he chokes, his hands gripping his knees tightly to hold them up. I look up at his face, locking eyes with him in the dim light.

"You're my good, sweet boy, aren't you, Edward?" I ask, lining us up. He nods furiously, his expression needy and desperate. "Does my boy need to get fucked?"

"Yes!" he cries. "Yes, Da-"

He stops himself, purses his lips together again. It hits me at that moment, what exactly he's holding back. What he's hiding, what he thinks is so dirty and wrong that I'll turn him away. I've engaged in my fair share of dirty talk over the years, but it was mostly playful and lighthearted. This seems like it's deeper for Edward, more important to him. More like something he  _needs_  to let out, rather than something fun and silly.

"Say it, Edward," I urge, pushing the head of my cock against him. I'm using just enough pressure so that he can feel me, but not enough that I'll actually move inside. He's frustrated, trying to push down against me, but he has no leverage in this position.

"Fuck me," he says, his fingers digging into his legs. He's already starting to sweat, either from the strain of holding his legs back or the excitement of the moment; I only know that his body is glistening, beautiful.

"Come on, say it. I want you to, baby. Be a good boy for me ... say it, out loud," I prompt him, rocking my hips ever so slightly against his.

"Please!" he begs.

"Not until you say it. Say it, Edward. Do it for me. I want you. Don't think, Edward, just-"

"Please, fuck me, Daddy!" he cries, interrupting my pleas. True to my word, I push forward into him, slowly stretching and filling him. "Oh, God," he says, throwing his arm over his face to cover his eyes.

"No, Edward, none of that," I tell him, bracing myself with one hand so I can pull the other away from his eyes. "I'm gonna take good care of you, and I want you to look at me. Look at Daddy while he fucks you."

His answering moan is all I need to hear. He doesn't look away from me again, not for a second, until I'm fully seated inside him. I hover over him, my hips flush against his ass, and lean down to kiss him. He's more shy this time, more tentative, but still passionate.

"Edward," I whisper, "it's okay. It's just words. Say whatever you want to say. I love you." We have a moment there, his forehead pressed against mine, where we drop the pretense of dirty talk and we're just ... ourselves.

"I love you too, Carlisle," he whispers, cupping my cheek in his hand. I kiss him again, but the urge to move is too strong and I have to lift my body to get some leverage.

On my knees, looking down at him, I feel stupid for not realizing it earlier. It's obvious to me now that what he needs in his everyday life-a strong man, someone to take care of his needs- has obviously manifested in his sexual fantasies, too. I know we probably still need to talk about this, especially his fear of rejection over it, but I can't bring myself to stop now. Right now, I just need to make him come.

"Good boy," I praise him, moving slowly. "I'll go slow, Edward, until you tell me you want it harder."

He just nods, his neck craning a little to watch where we're connected. True to my word, I'm gentle with him, warming him up and adding lube until he's grunting in frustration and trying to move against me.

"What did I tell you? Ask me," I tell him, reaching up to stroke his cock lightly.

"Need it harder," he pleads.

"Beg me," I ask, ducking my head to kiss his knee.

"Please?" Edward asks, still tentative. I shake my head and slow down my movements, forcing him to say what he really wants to say. What he needs to say.

"Fuck me hard, Daddy," he cries. "I want it!" I give him what he wants, slamming my hips against his, and he lets out a strangled scream of pleasure.

"That's right," I assure him. God, I'm not going to fucking last; I can't deny that talking like this is turning me on, too. And Edward ... Edward is so fucking sexy like this. Usually he's hiding his face, biting his lip, trying desperately to avoid giving in to his urges. Tonight, though, he's wanton and beautiful and so fucking in the moment that I can barely keep myself from just pounding into him and coming right away.

I set a steady rhythm and rest my hand on one of Edward's knees, holding myself up. My left hand is still a little wet from all the lube, and I use it to start stroking his cock in time with my thrusts. It's like I flipped the on switch again, and Edward suddenly won't stop talking.

"Daddy," he moans. "I'm yours." He babbles nonsensically, saying "Daddy" and "please" over and over again, his head thrashing back and forth. When his breath starts to hitch and the muscles in his stomach tense, I know he's close. I want him to explode; I want him to have the best orgasm he's ever had.

"Are you close? Is my boy gonna come?" I ask, stroking the head of his cock with my thumb.

"Yes!" he chokes out, his eyes wide and searching for mine. I move harder, faster-my cock and my fist-fucking him and stroking him until I know he's right on the edge.

"Come for me, baby," I tell him. "Come for Daddy. Be a good boy for Daddy and come all over my hand."

His whole body reacts, flushing a darker shade of red and shivering with intensity. He cries out as he comes, saying "Daddy, I love you," over and over again. His orgasm seems to go on forever; he's looking into my eyes the whole time. It's hot, but it's fucking powerful, too-I can see the love, the trust in his eyes as he really lets down his guard.

"I love you too, sweet boy," I assure him, squeezing every last drop of pleasure out of him. I'm so glad he came first, because I'm right there with him ... it only takes another two or three thrusts before I'm shouting out his name and collapsing forward, resting my body against Edward as I come, my cock throbbing with pleasure inside his tight ass.

When I come to my senses, I pull out of him slowly, holding the condom carefully so it won't slip off. I get rid of it and flop down on my back, noticing for the first time that it's after one in the morning. Edward's still on his back, panting, and his lips are moving silently.

"Edward, baby," I say, reaching over for him. He's still gripping his legs, and I have to pry his fingers loose and coax him down into my arms. He's saying, "Oh God, oh wow," over and over again, his voice barely a whisper. "Sweetie? You okay?"

"Hmmm?" he asks, his eyes unfocused. "What? Oh ... mmm, yeah. Never ... I've never felt so good ..." he says, snuggling closer to me.

I kiss his forehead and hug him tightly, wanting nothing more than to hold him. But we're both covered in lube, and I don't want to fall asleep that way.

"Let me go get a washcloth, okay?" I ask, and Edward nods sleepily. I could probably ask him for anything right now and he'd give it to me.

I clean up a little in the bathroom, and bring a washcloth back to bed to clean Edward up. He giggles when I touch him, and hisses when the rough fabric touches the head of his dick. I walk back to the bathroom to get rid of the washcloth and pee; when I come back, Edward is fast asleep, naked and curled up on my side of the bed. I crawl into his side and arrange myself around him, spooning him again, and focus on the even rhythm of his breath until I fall asleep, too.

* * *

In the morning, I open my eyes to find Edward staring at me, his cheek pressed against my pillow.

"Hi," he says.

"Hey," I answer.

"You slept a long time." His fingers reach over to brush my upper arm and then trail down to my wrist. I flip my hand over and capture his, twining our fingers together.

"Someone woke me up in the middle of the night," I tease. Edward's embarrassed, but he laughs instead of hiding his face.

"I ... um, last night ..." he says, squeezing my hand. I wait for him to finish his thought, but he seems tongue-tied.

"I thought it was hot, baby," I tell him. "I know you were embarrassed at first, but did you like what we did?"

He nods enthusiastically, the barely-there scruff of his beard scraping against the pillowcase.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, pulling him closer. He drapes his warm body over mine, snuggling into my chest.

"Kind of," he says, surprising me.

"What did you think?" I ask, tracing circles over his back.

"I just ... I guess I want you to know why," he says. "I mean, one of the reasons I was so afraid to tell you about that stuff is that I thought you'd think I was crazy, or that I was like ... that someone hurt me." I stiffen, even the suggestion making me feel a little sick.

"Sweetie, I never would have-"

"No, Carlisle, that's the thing. I just ... I don't know. I remember when I was a kid, I used to lie in bed at night wishing so hard for a real family. My mom died when I was six, and I've always missed her, you know? But I never knew my father, so I would invent all these stories and fantasies about having a dad. I thought about it every night before I fell asleep. I think that ... I don't know, I guess when I got older and started thinking about sex, the two fantasies kind of got ... mixed up, maybe," he says, dragging his fingers through my chest hair. "I think that's why, anyway."

"I understand," I tell him, kissing his forehead. "Sometimes I think it's hard to figure out  _why_  people like what they like. But I think the important thing is figuring out if it's something we like doing together, you know? And if it doesn't make either of us feel bad, and we both like it ... why not?"

"So you liked it too?" he asks, rolling away a little so he can look into my eyes.

"You couldn't tell?" I tease, brushing my thumb over his lips.

"I thought maybe you did," Edward says, kissing my thumb. "Or else you did a  _really_  great job of pretending."

"No pretending," I promise, although it's clear he felt the same connection that I did last night. I love feeling this close to him, knowing that he trusts me enough to share this part of himself with me. I hold him tighter, vowing never to let him go. "No pretending. Never, not with you. I love you, Edward."

He smiles into my chest, drops a kiss there, and whispers his reply reverently. "I love you, too."


	2. Chapter 2

I roll over as soon as I wake up, immediately seeking out Edward's warmth. His side of the bed is empty, though, and the sheets are cold.

The clock says seven thirty, and I yawn as I sit up and try to remember his schedule. He's working today, even though his area of downtown should be mostly empty. It's the Saturday before Christmas, so a lot of the college students he usually serves have gone home for the break.

If he were here, I'd stay in bed a while longer. I love cuddling with him when he's all warm and sleepy and pliable; I love seeing his face when his eyes first open in the morning, watching as a sweet smile spreads over his face.

Today, though, since I'm alone, I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and force myself to get up. I take a shower, get dressed, and make myself some breakfast. My espresso machine sits unused on the counter; usually we make coffee on the weekends, but when Edward works I like to go visit him.

I find myself eating a little too quickly, eager to get moving. I walk Max around the neighborhood, letting him stretch his legs, and then lock him up in the laundry room before I leave.

Edward's store is usually busy in the mornings, but today it's quiet. A few customers are scattered throughout the large cafe, but I'm the only one standing at the counter.

"Hi," he says, his eyes brightening as soon as he sees me.

"Good morning," I greet him. "I missed you."

He pouts. "I know. It wasn't easy to get up this morning. You were all snuggly," he says.

"Edward?" one of his co-workers calls. The little blonde peeks her head out from the back room and sees me. "Oh, hey Carlisle! How's it going?"

"Good, Jane. How are you?" I ask, accepting the warm, white cup that Edward slides across the counter.

"I'm great!" she says, turning her attention to Edward. "Edward, I'm finished with the whole bean, do you want me to clean the grinders now?"

"Actually, can you come out here and watch the front for a little bit? I'm gonna take my break now," he tells her. He got promoted last month and is a supervisor now; I'm really proud of how he asserts himself at work.

"Of course," she says, grinning. I make my way to the comfy chairs around the corner from the registers and sit down with my latte, waiting for Edward. When he appears, he doesn't sit down-instead he grabs my hand, tugs until I stand up, and pulls me behind him.

"What are you-"

"Shhhh," he says, interrupting me. He leads me to a door, one I've never noticed before, and pulls a key from his pocket. He unlocks the door, slips inside, and pulls me behind him. It's dark, but Edward flips a switch and a dull light comes on inside the space, illuminating shelves stocked with coffee and boxes of flavored syrups. He closes the door quietly and locks it behind him before turning back to me.

"You have to be quiet," he whispers, just barely audible even in our close proximity. I'm about to ask him exactly what he thinks he's doing, but his lips cover mine before I can get out a question.

This isn't Edward's usual MO, but it's fucking hot. He's taking control of the kiss, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me in close, and he's definitely  _not_  taking it slowly. I'm wondering what the hell got him so wound up.

"Baby," I moan, his lips abandoning mine as they move down to my neck. "Mmmm. Feels good." He trails kisses over my throat and up the other side of my neck, stopping to nibble at my ear.

"I want to suck your cock, right now," he whispers. "Anyone could catch us in here, Carlisle." My dick was already interested, but now I can feel it getting harder by the second. I wrap an arm around Edward's waist, pulling him closer so I can grind against him.

I can see now what he's doing, why he wants this. He told me earlier in the week that he feels like I accommodate him in all things sexual, and he felt guilty that he'd never asked about my fantasies. I assured him that  _he_  was my fantasy, and that everything we did together was more than satisfying for me, but Edward kept pushing. He wouldn't relent until I told him something, so I told him I liked the idea of fooling around in public.

I didn't think he'd actually do it.

Granted, we're about as safe as we can be, for a public place. I don't think anyone saw us come in here, and the room locks from the inside. Edward probably has the only key. Despite that, though, it is kind of hot... and I love that he took the initiative to start this.

As I contemplate our surroundings, Edward starts kissing down my neck again. His fingers are working quickly at my belt, pulling at the buckle and then pushing my pants down over my hips.

"I don't have a lot of time," he whispers into my neck. His warm hand sneaks into my boxers, and he wraps his fingers around my cock. He's not gentle or tentative... oh God, he feels so good.

"Do you want me on my knees?" he says, sucking hard at the skin of my neck. "Tell me."

"God, yes," I moan.

"Shhhhh," he reminds me, dropping down to the floor. "Try to be quiet."

Usually Edward will tease me with little kisses, nip at my thighs, and nuzzle into my hip. Usually, he's sweet and shy and calls me Daddy, lets me take charge of the situation. I love it, I do-our sex life is amazing-but this is different and new and really fucking exciting.

He wastes no time in taking me into his mouth, pulling me in as far as he can right away. He swallows around the head of my cock once, and then starts a fast rhythm, hollowing his cheeks out along my length as I slide out of his mouth. His right hand is flat against my stomach, keeping me pressed up against the door, and he's employing his left hand creatively. One second it's wrapped around my dick, following his lips and providing extra pressure, and the next it's cupping my balls, weighing them, rolling them gently and adding to the sensation of Edward's hot mouth.

"Fuck," I hiss, feeling my climax building quickly. Normally I'd want to slow him down, drag this out, see how long I can make it last, but I know this is meant to be quick and dirty. "God, do that again," I beg, feeling Edward's finger tickle the skin behind my balls.

He looks up at me, his eyes hooded and sexy, and pulls his finger up to his mouth. He slips it inside, alongside my cock, and wets it with saliva. This time, when he moves his hand back to trace that same spot, his finger is slippery. He presses harder, drawing a tight little circle there, and speeds up his rhythm.

"That's it," I tell him. "Fuck. I'm gonna come," I warn. I'm too loud, I'm sure, and Edward would probably shush me again if his mouth wasn't full of my cock. I bite my lip to keep from shouting out, but I can't stop the groan that escapes my lips when I let go.

"Mmmm," Edward says, humming happily as he swallows around me. He licks up every last drop, cleaning my cock gently, and tucks me back into my boxers. I fasten my pants and my belt as Edward hops up off the floor, and I open my arms to pull him in for a hug.

"So hot, baby," I tell him, squeezing him tight. "So good."

"That was fun," he agrees, pressing his lips gently to my neck. "I have to go back, though, I'm only supposed to take ten minutes."

"What about this?" I ask, snaking a hand between our bodies. I squeeze Edward's erection through his khakis, earning a hiss and a shaky exhale from my boy.

"No time... maybe later?" he asks, hopefully.

"Definitely later," I growl, kissing him roughly.

* * *

Edward doesn't get home from work until three, and I'm sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by Christmas presents.

"Hey," he says, bending low to kiss me.

"Hi, Babe. How was your day?" I ask, cutting out a long strip of red, glittery wrapping paper.

"It was fun," he says, grinning, and leans down to kiss me again. He lingers a little bit this time, letting me taste just the tip of his tongue. "Well, that part of it was fun, anyway," he clarifies, moving to the refrigerator. He complains about how boring the rest of his day was, gulping down a glass of orange juice while he talks.

We spend the afternoon wrapping presents, and I teach Edward how to make crazy bows with curling ribbon. He giggles the whole time.

"Carlisle, remember this morning when I went down on you in the stock room at work?" he asks, grinning.

"Mmmhmm," I answer, the image of Edward on his knees in front of me coming to mind.

"This might be gayer than that," he says, curling a long strand of green ribbon for emphasis.

"Hmm, I don't know," I argue. "I think an Elton John song was playing at Starbucks, so that might push it over the edge."

He hops down off his chair, pops his iPod into the docking station on the kitchen counter, and fiddles with the buttons. It only takes him a few seconds to find what he's looking for, and Lady Gaga starts blaring through the speakers.

"Okay, okay, you win. This is now officially the gayest part of our day," I concede.

* * *

"Oh fuck, Carlisle," he whines, later that night. I have him spread out on my bed, his left leg tossed over my shoulder, and I'm teasing him mercilessly. My fingers are in his ass, stretching him so slowly, and I'm licking and kissing up his cock gently, denying him the friction he really wants.

"That feel good, baby?" I ask, tapping my tongue against the head of his cock. He's so cute, writhing against me, his fingers clutching the bedsheets desperately.

"Yes, yes, yes," he whispers, his slim hips bucking up a little as he searches for more contact. "Please, c'mon." I tease him some more and drop wet kisses down his thigh. He groans, the frustration plain on his face.

"Someone's greedy," I chastise, grinning up at him.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he counters, his fingers combing through my hair. I pull my fingers from him and reach over the side of the bed for my t-shirt, wiping the lube off my hand before I turn back to my Edward.

I hum against his skin, pressing my lips to his belly, his chest, and up his neck as I crawl up his body. "Hmmm, I don't know. You're normally such a good, sweet boy." I bury my face in his neck, kissing and sucking and making him moan.

"You know I love being a good boy for you," he says. But then he turns his head just slightly, so his lips brush my ear when he whispers, "But sometimes I want to be  _bad._ "

"Mmm, yeah?" I ask. Edward's full of kinky surprises today, and I can't get enough. When I think of how shy, how scared he was when we started sleeping together, it breaks my heart a little. He was so locked up inside his own head, too worried about what I would think of him to really be himself. Now he's so honest with me, so real, and it makes our sex life amazing. I love everything we do together, from the tenderest butterfly kisses to the hottest, filthiest  _fucking_  I've ever experienced.

"You  _were_  very naughty today, Edward," I admonish him. He giggles and nuzzles into my neck, his lips soft and warm, nipping up my neck until he reaches my earlobe. He pulls it into his mouth and bites down-not hard enough to hurt me, but more than a playful nibble. "Oh, now you're just asking for it," I chuckle.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he asks again, his fingers digging into my shoulders. The teasing tone to his voice is gone; I get the feeling this isn't just a whim. I think I know what he wants, and it's making me more excited, making my cock ache-but I need to be sure.

"I think Daddy needs to punish you," I whisper, and Edward's answering groan is all I need to hear. "I'm gonna spank you for being such a bad boy."

"Fuck, yes," he breathes, arching up underneath me. His hard-on is digging into my hip, his chest is pressed tightly to mine, and his eyes are lit up with excitement.

I kiss him again before I roll away, and I have to stop Edward when he tries to roll with me. I pry his fingers loose from my neck and urge him to roll over, face down on the bed.

"Get on your hands and knees, baby," I tell him, rising up on my knees. He complies, resting on his elbows, his face pressed into the pillow. I need to see his face, so I stroke his cheek with my thumb until he turns to face me. He's looking at me but avoiding my eyes, and he's worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

"Is this okay?" I ask, running my fingers through his wild hair.

"I want..." he says, his voice too soft.  _Shit,_  I think _, I've taken this too far._  But Edward closes his eyes, clears his throat, and finds his voice. "I want to be in your lap. Like, over your knee. Is that okay?"

"Of course," I assure him, leaning down to kiss his cheek. I want to tell him that I'm proud of him for speaking up, for asking for what he wants, and tell him how much it turns me on... but I don't want to ruin his "Stern Daddy" fantasy. "Stand up for me, Edward."

He scrambles to get off the bed, his skin all flushed and sweaty with excitement. I sit up on the edge of the bed and stroke my own cock for a little relief. Edward stands in front of me with his knees touching mine and his eyes on my dick. It takes me a minute to figure out how to do this-I don't want him laying completely across my lap so that I have to support him and try to spank him at the same time. Eventually I pull him closer, spread my legs wide, and tug his body down over my knee. His feet are still on the floor but his cheek is pressed to the mattress, his cock burning against my thigh.

I throw my leg over both of his, holding him securely, and I hear him mumbling, "Yes, yes, yes," again.

"Is this what you wanted, you naughty boy?" I ask him, rubbing the smooth, pale skin of his cheeks. I've spanked him before in a playful way, but never like this-never deliberately, never as a "punishment."

"Yes, Daddy," he says, wiggling in my lap. I rest my free hand on his shoulder and squeeze it, a silent gesture of affection that I need to make before I do this.

"You were bad this morning, weren't you? You were such a horny little boy that you had to suck Daddy's cock while you were supposed to be working," I tease, cupping his ass cheeks and squeezing roughly. "So naughty."

"Please," he says, trying to push back against my hand. I raise it up just a few inches and bring it back down, just a little tap, really. Edward groans and wiggles again, grinding his cock against my thigh.

"Like that?" I ask, swatting at him gently again. I don't want to hurt him or take this too far.

"Harder," he says, turning his head to look back at me. He smiles shyly, reassuring me that he's okay, and I lift my hand a little higher.

"Such a bad boy," I tease, slapping my hand down against his warm, smooth flesh. The loud cracking sound is startling, but it's immediately followed by Edward's long, low moan. "You  _were_  asking for it, weren't you? You needed Daddy to spank you?"

"Yes, Daddy," he pants. I keep up a steady rhythm, spanking him firmly but hopefully not so hard that he's really hurting. I think he's more interested in the experience, in acting this out, than in any real pain. Still, his skin is turning pink with every blow, and he makes a weak effort to wiggle out of my arms. I know exactly how strong Edward is, and if he wanted to get away, he could. This is just part of the game, so I tighten my grip on him and spank him a little harder, until his skin turns a darker pink, almost red. It's pretty, but I'm worried about hurting him.

"Are you gonna be a good boy now?" I ask. "Tell Daddy."

"I'll be good, I'll be good," he grunts. "I'll be your good boy." I stop spanking him and rub circles over his skin, massaging him.

"Mmm, you like this, don't you?" I ask, stopping to drag my finger down over his backside, between his cheeks, down to his balls. I've never really fancied myself into S&M or whatever this is, but it  _is_  really fucking hot to watch him react this way to a simple spanking. "Tell Daddy you like it," I prompt, dragging my finger back up between his cheeks.

"Like it," he gasps. "So much, Daddy." He's moving, pushing back against my finger and forward to rut against my leg. "Oh, God," he whines. Fuck, he's close to coming-I can tell by the pitch of his voice, the desperate way he's moving.

"You want me to make you come like this?" I whisper, pushing a finger deeper into his ass.

"Need you, Daddy. Please," he says. He looks back at me, his eyes hooded and sexy as hell. "Want you. Want you to fuck me."

He doesn't have to ask twice-I'm urging him off my lap, transferring him to the bed, and searching for the lube I carelessly discarded earlier. I find it and stand up, admiring his slim body as I position myself behind him. Edward pushes up on his elbows and looks over his shoulder at me, his need apparent on his face.

He should be ready for me because of the fingering and stretching I did earlier, but I add some more lube and stretch him a bit more just to be sure. Edward's not really having it though-he's whining and grinding his hips against the bed, begging me to stop teasing and to fuck him.

"Be patient, baby," I warn him, steadying his hip with my free hand.

"Want it now," he growls. Without thinking, I lift my free hand and bring it down against his already reddened cheek. The resulting slap is louder somehow, more obscene than it was just moments before when he was on my lap.

"I thought you were going to be good for me, Edward?" I ask.

"Yes, yes, so good," he cries. "Please, Daddy, please, fuck me. Let me come."

I pull my my fingers from his warm, willing body and coat myself roughly with lube. I can't wait one more second to be inside him.

I tilt my hips down and line myself up with his entrance, pushing into him slowly and steadily. His body is resisting me, and I have to slow down so I don't hurt him. "Edward, baby, relax for me," I beg, stroking his back gently.

"Just need you, so much," he says, looking over his shoulder at me again.

"I know, sweetheart. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, baby," I tell him, moving my hands over the tense muscles in his back. I know that when he needs me like this-desperately, with his whole body and his whole heart-he needs my assurance, too. That I love him, that I need him the same way, that I'm not going to leave him. "There," I tell him, pushing deeper as his muscles relax around me, "there you go. Good boy. God, you feel so fucking good."

"Yes, yes," he whimpers. "More, Daddy."

"I've got you," I promise, moving inside him slowly. "God, so good."

He relaxes completely once I'm all the way inside, fucking him in a gentle rhythm, my hands all over his shoulders, his back, his ass. He's beautiful and so responsive, whimpering and moaning and crying out with pleasure at every thrust, every touch.

Edward shifts so that his weight is resting on one elbow, and his other hand moves under his body. I know he's touching himself, and I want-more than anything else-to see it. To watch him come.

He gasps sharply and whines in complaint when I pull out of him. "What are you-" he asks, but stops when I crawl besides him on the bed, past his body, and sit back against the headboard.

"Come here," I urge him, tugging at his arm. "I want you on my lap." He crawls up the bed and lifts himself up, straddling my legs and positioning himself over my cock again. He takes it slow, lowering himself onto me, and clings to my shoulders.

"Good, so good," I murmur, stroking his cheek, his neck. Fucking him from behind is hot, but I'd much rather see his face. I let Edward control the pace, working us into a fast, hard, rhythm.

"Please, need to come," he grunts, dropping his hand down from my shoulder to wrap it around his cock. I reach between us and pull his hand away, lifting it back up to my neck.

"Let me," I whisper. I rest one hand on his back, holding him steady, and bring the other down between us. He's hot and hard and pulsing beneath my fingers, and I know it won't take him long to get there.

"Love you, Daddy," he says, his forehead falling against mine. His ass gripping me, his cock twitching in my hand, his sweet voice-it all pushes me over the edge. I can feel my balls tightening and I know I won't last. I need it to be now, I need him to come  _now._

"I love you, Edward," I tell him, tightening my grip on his cock. "Daddy wants you to come."

"Coming, coming," he moans, rocking over me as his release spurts out of him, covering my hand and my stomach. "Oh God, love you so much, so good," he says, mumbling all through his orgasm. I come with him, burying myself deep in his ass and holding him tightly against me.

"Such a good boy," I whisper, pulling him close as he shudders on top of me. We sit like that for a few long minutes, cuddling close, ignoring my cock softening inside him and the sticky mess between us. He presses tender little kisses to my neck and my cheek, whispering "thank you," "I love you," and "Carlisle," over and over again.

When we both finally catch our breath, Edward climbs off of me carefully and pulls me off the bed, to my feet. I let him take the lead and tug me into the bathroom, let him clean me up and take care of me before I do the same for him. After we're cleaned up, I push him forward a little so he's bending over the vanity, staring into the mirror, with his ass pushed out towards me.

"Are you sore?" I ask, brushing my fingers over his skin. He's still a bright pink, but the color seems to be fading.

"No!" he says, shaking his head vehemently. I lock eyes with him through the mirror and raise one eyebrow in question; Edward bites his lip and smiles back at me. "Well, maybe a little sore when you touch."

I open my mouth to apologize, but Edward cuts me off.

"Don't. It's not bad, Carlisle, I'm not really hurt or anything. And I  _wanted_  you to do it. So don't worry, okay? It felt amazing," he promises, standing up straight. He turns around and takes my hand in his, lacing his fingers through mine. "Thanks for going along with that."

"Edward, sweetie..." I duck down to kiss his lips softly. "You're amazing. I'll always go along with you. Wherever you want to go."

"Me too," he says, nuzzling his face into my neck. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. "Anywhere you want to go, whatever you want to do."

"Starting with Christmas at my parents' house?" I ask, holding him tighter. He groans but doesn't protest-it's taken me weeks to convince him to come home with me for Christmas. I've even resorted to begging, cajoling, and promising sexual favors to try to get him to agree.

"You're sure they want me to come?" he whispers, reiterating the same question he's been asking me since the quiet Thanksgiving we spent alone in my apartment.

"They all want you to come. They all want to meet you, baby. And  _I_ want you to come. I promise, it'll be good." He rests his head on my shoulder and looks up at me, looking for the truth in my eyes.

"Okay, Carlisle," he whispers. "I'll go. I just didn't want to intrude on any, um, family stuff."

"Babe." I cup his head in my hands, forcing him to look straight into my eyes. "You're my family, and I'm yours."

He doesn't protest, or look away like he usually does. He doesn't deny it, change the subject, or argue about the difference between "real" family and what we have.

He smiles. "'Kay," is all he says. That smile, that easy acceptance, makes me happier than I've ever been.

"The only thing you have to watch out for is Emmett," I tell him, pulling him back to the bedroom. "He's into practical jokes." I climb into bed and let Edward curl himself into me, wiggling until he's comfortable on his side, under my arm. We fall asleep like that, curled together, while I tell him my family stories and Christmas traditions, and tell him how much I want to make new memories, with him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Babe?" I call, tossing my keys down on the mail table. I loosen my tie, grateful to be home, if only for a few minutes before we leave for the holidays. "Edward?"

"In here," he calls. I follow his voice to the kitchen and find him wearing oven mitts while bending over and lifting a sheet from the oven. "I made sandwiches. I didn't think you'd want a big dinner before we go."

"It smells amazing in here," I tell him. He makes these baked Italian subs for me at least once a week. I don't realize how hungry I am until I can smell the food, and suddenly my mouth is watering. Edward turns away to lift the sandwiches onto plates and I walk up behind him, pressing my body to his and kissing the side of his neck. "Hi."

"Hey," he says, turning his head for a proper kiss. I love that he's always here when I get home; Edward still has an apartment, but in name only; he only goes there once a week, to pick up his mail. I've asked him to move in with me, but I think he's still clinging to the safety of having his own place. I can't really blame him, with his history, but I hope he changes his mind someday.

He tells me about his day while we eat, and I tell him about a few of my patients. We make quick work of the sandwiches, but it's still almost seven by the time we're done. I check my watch and groan when I see the time.

"What's wrong?" Edward asks, stacking our plates as he clears the table.

"By the time I pack and wrap those last few presents, it's gonna be after eight, at least. We won't get there til eleven," I explain. "I'd better get moving."

"Oh," Edward says, shrugging his shoulders. "I did all that this afternoon."

"What?" I ask, surprised.

"I wrapped the presents for your brother and your nieces, and put them all in the bags under the tree. And I was packing my things, so I just packed yours too," he tells me. "I mean, you should look and make sure I got everything you want. But I did most of it."

My heart warms a little bit-not just because of Edward's caring gesture. It was sweet of him to do those things for me, of course, but what really makes me happy is that he took the _initiative_  to do them. For so long he's been tentative, acting like a guest in my home, walking on eggshells. It took me weeks to get him to stop asking permission to use my toothpaste. The fact that he's acting like he lives here-like he's my partner-is really touching.

"Thank you," I tell him, following him to the kitchen. "Really. It means a lot to me."

He sets the dishes in the sink and turns to me, reaching out for a hug. I let him pull me in close and tilt my head down into his neck, breathing him in.

"I like taking care of you," he says quietly. He's told me before that he worries that he asks me for too much, takes too much. I think he's finally starting to see that I need him too.

* * *

"Time to wake up, Ed," I tell him, reaching over to squeeze his thigh. He's curled up against the window, using his hoodie for a pillow.

"Are we there?" he asks, sitting up and stretching. The drive to Forks is boring but Edward's been up since four this morning; instead of pestering him to keep me company I decided to let him sleep. Especially since I know my family won't let us get to bed for a few hours.

"Almost," I answer. "I thought you might want a minute to wake up."

"Yeah," he says, covering a yawn. "Thanks." He unfolds his sweatshirt and pulls it on over his arms. He relaxed enough to sleep for about an hour, but I can tell his nerves are coming back tenfold.

"They're gonna love you," I promise, taking his hand. "Just remember that my family is a little... well, I guess you could say that they lack boundaries. And they're loud. Well, not my parents, or Alice. Just Emmett. But he's loud enough for all of us."

"Okay," Edward says, clinging to my hand.

"If it gets to be too much, just... I don't know. Wink at me, or something. I'll take care of you."

"I know," he says, leaning over the console to rest his head on my shoulder. "I know you will."

He doesn't straighten up until we pull into my parents' driveway. The house I grew up in is large, sprawling, but by no means modern. My father spends a lot of time patching holes, repairing banisters, and replacing floorboards. The setting is worth it, though-the house is surrounded by woods and backs up to a stream. I feel that familiar sense of relief that always comes when I'm home-like I'm not in the real world anymore, like I've left my worries behind.

"Wow," Edward whispers, ducking low to look up through the windshield at the second floor of the house. I watch as he takes in the white siding, the worn green shutters, the candles glowing in every window. "It's so pretty... and it's so big."

"It's not that big," I counter. "Remember there are six adults and three kids here this week. You'll be feeling crowded in no time."

He waits until I step out before unbuckling his seat belt and following me to the back of the car; just as I lift the first of our bags out of the trunk, the front door opens wide.

"You made it," my dad says, stepping out onto the porch in his slippers. He looks good, but my eyes automatically flicker to the subtle changes in his appearance. I take an inventory every time I come home-a few more gray hairs, some wrinkles I never noticed before, new bifocals. He's only in his early sixties, but I can't stop myself from worrying about him.

"Roads were clear," I tell him, setting my duffel bag back down in the trunk. Dad makes his way to us and holds his arms open, pulling me into a hug.

"Good to see you, son," he says, squeezing me tightly. My parents have always been big on affection; in the Cullen family, one  _never_  says hello or goodbye without a hug.

"You too, Dad," I tell him, pulling back. I reach behind me, take Edward's hand in mine, and pull him closer. "This is Edward."

My boy is positively trembling. He lifts his head to make eye contact with my dad, offering his right hand in greeting.

"It's nice to..." he starts, but his voice is scratchy and tight. "It's nice to meet you, Sir," he says, after clearing his throat.

"Welcome, Edward," my dad says, ignoring Edward's outstretched hand. He wraps his arm around Edward's shoulder instead and guides him up the path towards the house. "Tell me, did Carlisle stop to show you Crescent Lake?"

Edward looks back at me, eyes wide and panicked, and I shrug and smile in apology. I wait for him to wink, but he just turns back to my dad and answers his questions.

I set about unpacking the car, lifting the straps of our travel bags over my shoulders and trying to gather all the gifts in my hands so I don't have to make two trips.

"You look like a pack mule," I hear, Emmett's voice booming across the darkened driveway.

"Well come here and help me, ass," I challenge. He hops down the driveway barefoot, practically jogging to protect his feet from the cold concrete. I reach out to hug him, but he ignores my intention and slaps my hand away just so he can quote his favorite movie.

"Brothers don't shake hands... brothers gotta hug!" he exclaims, wrapping his arms around me awkwardly and lifting me off my feet. "Here, let me help you with this stuff," he offers, lifting the smallest, lightest bag from my grasp and turning back towards the house.

"I missed you, Em," I tell him, shaking my head. My younger brother-who is a few inches taller than me and weighs at least fifty pounds more-never really grew up. His immaturity is balanced by his kindness, though, and we all love him just as he is.

"So is that your boyfriend in there or did you like, adopt a Bosnian orphan?" he asks, the first joke of what I imagine will be dozens about the age difference between Edward and me.

"Shhh," I deadpan. "I'm not supposed to talk about it until the paperwork goes through."

* * *

Emmett helps me deposit all the bags in my old bedroom before wandering off to check on the kids, and I move downstairs in search of Edward and the rest of my family. I find him in the kitchen with my parents and my baby sister.

"It was a nice drive," he says softly. "I've never been on the ferry before." He smiles when he sees me walk in the room, relieved that I've found him again.

"Carlisle!" Mom exclaims, abandoning the cookies she's icing. She hugs me and kisses both my cheeks before taking my face in her hands to examine me for injury or illness the way she always does. "I'm just talking to your Edward," she says, adding in a whisper, "he's shy."

"He is," I whisper back, kissing her forehead. Alice attacks me next, and I scoop her up and twirl her around. I never stopped thinking of her as my  _baby_  sister-probably because she's so much younger than Emmett and I and still so petite.

"You look good, old man," she says, waggling her eyebrows.

"You too, little one," I tease. "Where's your boyfriend? Paul, right?" I ask, intentionally getting the name wrong. I like to joke about her revolving door of boyfriends-every relationship is "totally serious" and each one lasts about three months.

"You know it's not Paul," she admonishes, slapping at me with a tea towel. "It's Jasper, and he's asleep. Emmett made Jasper work out with him this morning and he's a little, uh, tired."

"I'm so sad that I missed that," I say, rolling my eyes. "Hope Jasper learned his lesson," I add. Alice huffs and bids us all goodnight, stomping off to bed.

Edward seems happy to no longer be the center of attention. He's flattened himself against the wall next to the refrigerator, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he's just quietly observing.

"Okay?" I mouth, and he nods in return. "Come here," I add silently, settling into the seat at the kitchen counter that Alice had vacated. He walks a little closer but hovers a few feet away from me.

I spread my knees and reach out for him, wanting him closer. Even though he's not freaking out, I know he's nervous.

He's awkward, reluctant to get too close as my mother resumes questioning him. When I can reach him, finally, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and tug him against me. He finally relaxes in my arms, leaning his weight against my thigh and tucking his head into my shoulder.

"Awww, sweetie, are you tired?" My mom asks.

"A little," Edward answers, blushing as he lifts his head.

"Carlisle, why are you keeping the boy awake? Go to bed already, it's late!" she admonishes, slapping at my hand when she sees me trying to sneak a cookie.

"No, Mrs. Cullen, it's okay. I took a nap in the car," Edward says.

"Call me Evelyn, darling. Here, have a cookie," she offers, handing him a freshly frosted sugar cookie.

"Not fair," I mutter, ignoring my mother's raised eyebrow. There's nothing like being in my parents' house for twenty minutes to make me feel like a child again.

"So Edward, how is it that you've lived in Seattle your whole life and you've never been on a ferry?" Mom asks, sliding a cookie towards me, too.

"Um, I guess I just... never went anywhere, really," Edward says, shuffling from one foot to the other. I rest my chin on his shoulder and squeeze his hand. I haven't told my parents anything about Edward's background, and I'm starting to regret not giving them a heads up.

"No family vacations?" she asks, picking up a bowl of green icing to add to the red she's already spread on the cookies.

"No..." Edward says, curling his shoulders in a little.

"Edward lived in foster care most of his life, Mom," I tell her, keeping my tone casual. "Not a lot of family vacations or anything. So let's try not to overwhelm him with... Cullen-ness."

Mom stops icing the cookies, her eyes flickering back and forth between me and Edward, and I can see the empathy in her eyes. She probably wants to hug him, kiss his cheeks, and smother him with some love, but Edward's cheeks are bright red and he's looking away from us. Wisely, my mother goes back to icing cookies and tries to lighten the mood.

"I don't know  _what_  you're talking about, son," she says, scratching her cheek. She accidentally-on-purpose leaves a streak of green icing from her nose down to her chin, and I have to bite my lip to suppress a smile. "Edward, do you like pancakes, sweetheart? I was going to make some for breakfast."

He swallows hard and lifts his head to answer her, his eyes popping wide open when he sees the green line down her face. "Mrs. Cullen, you have-"

"I told you, it's Evelyn," she says.

"Evelyn, you have some icing on your face," he says, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

"Oh, really?" she says, reaching up to pat at her face. She wipes at the wrong side, smearing a green mess over the apple of her cheek. "Is that better?"

I can't hold it in any longer and start laughing. Edward joins in, wrapping an arm around my neck affectionately. God bless my mother and her cookie-baking and tension-dissolving skills.

Edward walks to the sink, wets a tea towel, and helps my mother clean off the icing. She gives him another cookie as a reward and sends us to bed, arguing that Emmett's kids are going to force us to wake up early whether we want to or not.

* * *

Edward is clingy when we get to bed, crawling under the covers and curling his body around mine. He's wearing boxers and a t-shirt, a lot more than he usually wears at home, but he says he feels more comfortable this way away from home.

I know he's been so nervous about meeting my family, but I think it went well. He's still tense though, his fingers digging into my shoulder as he presses his body close to mine, burrowing into my shoulder.

"I told you they'd love you," I whisper, stroking his back firmly.

"I haven't met all of them," he says, his voice muffled in my shirt.

"Just Rosalie and the kids left," I tell him. "Oh, and Alice's flavor of the month."

"That's mean," he says, draping his leg over my hip to get closer.

"We all tease her," I tell him. "She's just young and doesn't know what she wants."

He's quiet, all warm and tense around me, his breath coming too fast to really be relaxed.

"She's older than me," he whispers. I wince, realizing that he's taking my words and applying them to our relationship.

"Edward, baby," I tell him, rolling him onto his back. I loosen his hands from around my neck just enough, just until I have room to pull myself up and look into his eyes. "Alice is... Alice. She's not serious and she's  _not_  shy about giving her heart away. She's not like you..."

"Do they think I'm too young?" he asks, resting his hand lightly on my shoulder. The pad of his thumb brushes my neck just above the collar of my t-shirt, and I shiver at the softness of his touch.

"All I've told them about you is that you make me  _insanely_  happy," I tell him, smiling. I lean down to press a kiss to his cheek, my lips glancing the corner of his mouth. "That's enough for them. You don't have to worry about not being good enough. They just want to get to know you."

His hands start to wander, down over my t-shirt to my waist and back up again, under the fabric. I shudder at his hand exploring my skin, squeezing my waist and up my side.

I lie down on my side next to him, humming quietly in pleasure as his hand moves over my chest and then down lower, under the waistband of my pajama pants, to draw small circles on my hip.

"I'm still nervous," he says, his eyes locked on his hand as he pushes my t-shirt up, exposes more skin.

"Don't be," I tell him, leaning in for a long, slow kiss.

"I might say the wrong thing," he argues, shaking his head so his nose brushes against mine.

"We all do sometimes," I explain, dropping my head down to his neck. I drop slow, wet kisses down the column of his throat as I explain. "We disagree and we argue and we apologize and we move on. That's just what we do. You don't have to worry about saying anything wrong, Edward. You're safe here."

He clutches me tighter. "Promise?" he says, his voice wavering.

"Edward, what do you think is going to happen?" I ask, dragging my lips back up to his cheek. I kiss him once more and pull away, stroking his hair gently as I wait for him to find the words.

"Nothing... It's just hard to let my guard down," he whispers, "with... people. With families."

It's always these quiet moments, late at night, when Edward confides his deepest fears. That he's never felt like he had a home. That he's never felt loved. That he's afraid of being himself for fear that any family-even my family-will reject him.

"Baby," I comfort him, rolling onto my back. I pull Edward with me, letting him rest his head on my chest so I can play with his hair. "I told you, it's you and me. We're a family no matter what. And as I long as I love you, I promise that the rest of my family will love you too."

"I love you," he says quietly, his fingers drawing circles on my side again. He turns his head to kiss my chest, my nipple, down over my stomach, all while his hand is circling closer and closer to the waistband of my pants.

"Ed, are you sure..." I start, reaching down to still his hand, but he moves faster than me. Before I can stop him his hand is in my pants, his warm fingers encircling my growing erection.

"So sure," he says, covering my quivering stomach in the smallest, sweetest kisses. "I need you," he adds.

"Come here," I beg, pulling him up by his elbows. He slides up my body, his smooth chest gliding over mine, and kisses me passionately. He straddles my thigh and I feel his cock pressing against it, getting harder as he wiggles against me.

"Need my Daddy," he pants, pulling his lips away from mine.

"I know," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I know he needs to feel small and safe and loved, and I always, always want to give him what he needs. We kiss long and hard, tongues tangling and teeth clashing, until Edward's wiggling turns into a steady rhythm of grinding against my leg. I grip his hips and lift him off of me, rolling him back onto the bed at my side.

"Fuck," he moans, whimpering quietly as I climb over him and settle between his legs.

"Shhh, baby," I tell him, kissing his soft, pink lips. "Quiet."

He lifts his head from the pillow, just enough to bring his lips to my ear. "Yes, Daddy," he breathes, nipping at my earlobe.

We rock together, cocks hard and sliding against each other through layers of fabric, lips kissing and whispering and worshipping. The only sounds in the room are my words of encouragement and Edward's desperate little moans.

And bedsprings.

Shit.

"It's so loud," I groan, rolling off of Edward again. He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout before scrambling to his feet. He fumbles in his overnight bag for a minute and then walks to my side of the bed.

"Come here," he says, reaching for my hand and pulling me up. I let him pull me a few feet away, to my old, battered desk. The one where I sat for hours in high school, writing papers on Shakespeare and the Russian revolution and God knows what else.

Edward pulls his t-shirt off and tosses it to the floor before leaning back against the desk. I waste no time in attacking his bare skin with my lips, kissing and nipping down his chest. I bite and suck at his nipples, teasing one with my teeth while I pinch the other with my fingers.

"Daddy," he moans, trying to slip his hand into mine. "Carlisle," he hisses, drawing my attention away from his body.

He's pressing something into my hand-a small bottle of lube and a condom.

"Fuck me? Like this?" he asks, wrapping his legs around mine.

"I think the desk might bang against the wall," I whisper, thrusting my hips hard against his to test my theory. It's quiet, but it's there-just a small thump that would only get louder as we moved together faster.

"But I need you to fuck me, Daddy," he breathes, his voice high and innocent, his wide eyes making my cock twitch. He loves this game, loves to ham it up now that he knows I'm just as into it as he is.

"Such a good boy," I tell him, lowering my mouth to his for another long, searing kiss. "Hop down," I instruct him, when we finally break apart. "Put your arms on the desk. There you go," I soothe, putting my hand flat between his shoulder blades and pushing him forward.

I kneel down behind him and slide his boxers down over his hips, throwing them in the same direction that he threw his shirt. I can't help but tease him, kissing and licking at his ankles, his calves, his knees. I kiss up his thighs and over his smooth, round cheeks, reaching between his legs to ghost my fingers over his balls as I move up his body.

"God, yes," he says, dropping his head down between his arms.

I spend a long time touching him, opening him and relaxing him with slick fingers. I need it to be easy and gentle, I need Edward to be quiet, and I don't want him to be uncomfortably sore tomorrow.

"Ready," he mumbles, long before I'm ready to fuck him.

"Please?" he says, a few minutes later.

"Daddy, please," he chokes, his need causing his voice to break. That's when I know he can't take any more teasing, any more preparation. He needs me inside him, connected to him, narrowing all of his focus to this one sensation.

"Good boy," I whisper, stroking his spine with my free hand. I wipe the excess lube off on my pajama bottoms and shuck them, stepping close to Edward and lining us up. "Can you be quiet, sweet boy?"

"Yes, Daddy," he whines, pushing back against me. I let him take control, holding my cock steady as he pushes back against me. He sighs softly when I'm halfway in, his muscles relaxing as we move together slowly, leisurely.

He holds us steady, his palms flat against the desktop preventing him from slipping, and I fuck him firmly, with long, hard strokes.

I want him to come, I want to reach over his hip and grab his dick and watch his body tremble and give in under me. I want him to shudder and tense and squeeze my cock and bring me with him.

But this time, I can't last. This time, having him here in  _this room_ , where I spent my teenage years fantasizing about doing exactly this... it's too much for me. I'm gripping his hips, fucking him hard, and before I can even think about getting Edward off I'm spilling into the condom. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, a sharp gasp the only sound that escapes from my lips.

I breathe deeply, trying to regain control, and pull out of Edward. With shaking hands I tug the condom off, knot it, and toss it into the trash can. He's still bent over the desk, breathing fast and looking at me over his shoulder.

Embarrassed at finishing so quickly and unsteady from my intense orgasm, I back away until my knees hit the bed, and then I slide down to the floor.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, raking my fingernails through the carpet below me.

"No," he says, straightening up. He moves over to me, stands over my legs, and lowers himself down to my lap. "No saying you're sorry," he tells me, throwing my own words back in his face. The words I've murmured to him countless times, reassuring and loving him.

"Feel how hard you made me," he says, reaching for my hand. He brings it between our bodies, down to his cock. "You got me so close, Daddy. Make me cum like this, please? Let me sit on your lap?"

"My good boy," I whisper, wrapping my fingers around him. He shudders and sighs, leaning back to give me better access. "You're right. So smart, so sweet."

"Love you," he whispers, tilting his head back.

"Always," I tell him, brushing my thumb against his head, against that sensitive little strip on the underside of his cock that always drives him crazy. "Love you always. You're safe with me, so safe."

"Mmm," he moans, gripping my shoulder hard. "I'm gonna... Oh, God, I'm gonna..."

"Come for Daddy, sweet boy. Come so hard," I beg him. I reach behind him with my free hand, slipping two fingers inside him where he's still slick and ready for me.

"Yes, Daddy!" he groans, his mouth and his eyes opening wide as his orgasm hits him. "Yes, yes, yes," he moans.

"Shhh, baby," I remind him, letting him rock back and forth between my two hands as his orgasm plays out.

He collapses against me and I hold him for a few minutes, stroking his hair and kissing his neck. "You okay?" I ask, when he finally starts to lift himself off me.

"Yeah," he says, smiling shyly as he helps me up off the floor. "I needed that. Needed you."

"I always need you," I tell him, kissing his cheek before he darts off to the bathroom to clean up.

* * *

When I open my eyes in the morning, my first thought is that I'm  _so_  glad Edward and I both cleaned up and got dressed last night before we fell asleep.

Because my five year old niece is staring back at me.

"Uncle Carlisle?" Jamie whispers.

"Hi, Bug," I whisper back, reaching out to tap her nose. She giggles and then covers her mouth at the sound.

"Is it Christmas?" she asks, and my eyes flicker to the clock. Seven-thirty.

"Not yet," I tell her. "Tomorrow. Does your mom know you're up here?"

"No," she says, giggling again. "Who is that man?" she asks, standing on her tip toes so she can see Edward lying on the other side of me.

"That's Edward," I tell her. "He's my boyfriend."

"Oh," she says. "Does he like puzzles?"

"I think he does," I tell her. "He likes sleeping, too. Why don't you and I go see about some orange juice?"

She skips out of my bedroom and down the hall, stopping every few feet to make sure I'm following. We make it to the kitchen and I find pretty much everyone else-with the exception of Alice and whatever-his-name-is-already awake.

"Jamie, did you wake up your uncle?" Rosalie asks, frowning at her daughter.

"No," she answers, shaking her head wildly.

"Technically speaking, she did not," I elaborate. "She just stood next to my bed until I opened my eyes."

"I told you to stay in the den with your brother and sister!" Rosalie says, grabbing Jamie's hand. She pauses to kiss my cheek, adding "Sorry, C. Merry Christmas."

"It's not a problem," I tell her, patting Jamie on the head as Rosalie leads her into the den. I pour myself a cup of coffee, wincing at the taste and wishing Edward had made it.

I sit in the kitchen with Mom, Dad, Emmett, and Rose, drinking coffee and eating fruit salad, for an hour or so before I start to worry about Edward. It's not like him to sleep in, even on his day off.

I head back up to my bedroom but find it empty. He's not in the bathroom, either, or in any of the other rooms upstairs. Confused, I make my way back downstairs and look in each of the rooms in turn.

Finally I follow the peal of giggles to the den, peeking my head inside just in time to see Edward, wearing a pair of my old track pants and a Forks High sweatshirt, dump a huge box of puzzle pieces on the floor.

"Hey," I greet him, making him aware of my presence.

"Morning," he says, grinning. "Jamie woke me up. She said you told her I love puzzles."

"I said  _I think_  you like puzzles," I clarify, sitting on the floor across from the two of them.

"Well lucky for Jamie, you were right," he says, flipping the individual pieces of cardboard over so they're all right side up before getting to work.

* * *

Throughout the day, I find that Edward's shyness is really only a barrier in groups; when he takes my family on one by one, he wins them over with his kindness and quiet calm. I'm shocked when he even volunteers to accompany Emmett to the Shop n Save for a few last minute items Mom wants for Christmas dinner.

"Want me to come, too?" I ask, offering to abandon the game of chess I'm playing with Dad.

"No, it's okay," Edward says, leaning down to kiss my cheek.

They're gone for almost an hour, and I'm on the edge of my seat the whole time. Emmett can take the teasing too far sometimes; we all have thick skins after years of his jokes, but Edward might get his feelings hurt.

I have no idea what transpires on that trip to the grocery store, but when they come back they're thick as thieves. I'm sitting on the couch, reading on my Kindle, when they stomp through the door.

"Thanks for the help, Jailbait," Emmett calls, clapping Edward on the shoulder as he carries two plastic bags into the kitchen.

"No problem, Prom King," Edward answers, a silly smile on his face as he approaches me.

"Are you going to tell me what  _that's_  all about?" I ask, pulling him into my lap.

"Maybe later," he says, nuzzling me sweetly.

"Are you having fun?" I ask, brushing my fingers up and down his spine.

"Yeah," he says. "They're not so scary."

"No," I whisper.

"They all love you," he tells me, one finger tracing the peaks and valleys of my knuckles.

"Despite all my flaws," I tease, flipping my hand over to capture Edward's.

"And  _you_  love  _me_ ," he says, squeezing my hand.

"Yes, I do," I promise, looking into his eyes.

"Forever?" he asks.

"Forever," I confirm.

"Okay then," he says, resting his head against my shoulder.

I feel like he's telling me that he sees it now; that he finally understands how we're meant to be together, how he fits into my life perfectly.

"You know what I want?" I ask, slipping my fingers under his shirt to warm up his skin, still cold from being outdoors.

"What?" Edward asks, tilting his head back to look up at me.

"I want us to come here for Christmas every year. I want us to bring our kids here, and I want our kids to play with Emmett and Alice's kids, and I want it to be loud and crazy and fun like it was when I was little. And I want... well, I really hope that eventually this place feels like your home, too."

"I hope so too. That sounds... it sounds like everything I've always wanted," he whispers. "To have a big family and Christmas traditions and all that. It sounds nice."

"It will be, baby. It will be," I assure him.

He's quiet for a minute, playing with the buttons on my shirt.

"My lease is up in March," he says. It's the first time he's even brought up the subject of his apartment.

"Yeah?" I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.

"Yeah," he confirms. "I was thinking maybe... if you still want me to..."

"I still want you to," I tell him, cutting him off. I kiss him passionately, unable to control my excitement.

"You're sure you're okay with sharing your place?" he asks, when I finally pull away to let him breathe.

"It's  _our_  place, Edward. It already is. It didn't feel like a home until you came into my life, anyway. I hate it when you're not there," I whisper, squeezing him tight.

"Okay," he says. "I'll give up my apartment."

We snuggle for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the kids shrieking from the kitchen, of my mom humming as she sets the dining room table.

"It feels good," Edward says, his lips moving against my neck. "To feel like... like I belong somewhere."

"You do, baby," I answer, sighing in contentment. "You belong with me, always."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This is complete.


End file.
